


The Things We Do

by katxwithwings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Physical Abuse, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-13 17:25:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14753162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katxwithwings/pseuds/katxwithwings
Summary: Despite all that he's done, Peter is Derek's uncle and the alpha, and surely that has to count for something. Stiles is a newly bitten werewolf and not about to face some murderous hunters by himself. So against his better judgment, he joins Peter pack.But the fire didn't just leave Peter with physical scars, and a person can only bend so far before they break.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming/pseuds/theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming) for beta-ing. 
> 
> Prompt by Ash: Peter claims Stiles by bitting him and Stiles becomes an omega of the Hale pack. Derek tries to help him cope and they fall in love.
> 
> Please note that in this fic omega refers to a werewolf that's at the bottom of the social hierarchy. Werewolves without a pack are called lone wolves.

The shade of the Hale fire had haunted Derek since he and Laura had arrived home from school only to see their house and family burn to the ground. It ate away at him during the day and stole his sleep at night. In New York he lived in terror that Laura would somehow find out and cast him away. But now Laura was dead, and Kate lay bleeding on the floor with her throat slashed out. Peter stood over her, a grim reaper with glowing red eyes and blood-tipped claws. 

“Run,” Scott yelled at the Argent girl, already half-shifted and ready for a brawl. Peter paused to give his beta an unimpressed once over before turning to Derek.  _ Are you with me or against me? _ Those cold blue eyes seemed to say. The fire had burned away his funny, sarcastic uncle and left behind a crazed, caustic, bitter shell. But Peter was still his family, and Derek was tired of watching his family die. 

Slowly, Derek went to go stand next to his uncle. 

“You’re siding with  _ him _ ?!” Scott howled in indignation. “He killed your sister. He’s going to kill Allison.” 

“Back off Scott,” Derek growled, flashing his eyes. 

With a snarl, Scott leapt forward, fangs bared and claws extended. Derek readied himself to meet the barrage but Peter was faster. There was a roar and suddenly Scott was flying through the air like a ragdoll, smashing through the brittle, burned out wall and landing on the outside grass with a thud. 

Peter leapt after him. Derek followed, partly to back up his alpha, mostly to make sure Peter didn’t end up killing Scott. The clearing was empty except for the three of them -- neither Argent was in sight.

“Such a shame,” Peter commented, casually pinning a struggling Scott to the ground with his foot, the heel of his shoe digging into the beta’s back. “I was looking forward to paying the Argents back. Maybe I can still catch up to them...”

Scott gave a strangled yell and tried to push himself up. Peter’s face twisted with malice as he lifted his foot and kicked him into the nearest tree. “And what about you, Scott? Are you going to be a good little beta? Or am I going to have to kill you along with your hunter girlfriend?”

“I’ll never join you,” Scott choked out.

Unease stirred in the pit of Derek’s gut. The beta in him was loathe to disobey his new alpha. But he couldn’t just watch Peter murder Scott, no matter how obnoxious the kid was. Luckily, at that moment a Porsche screeched to a halt in front of the house. Stiles jumped out of the driver’s seat and hurled something at Peter. The bandage around his right wrist glowed white in the moonlight. Whether it was his injury or an innate lack of aim. Stiles’s throw went wide, missing Peter and hitting the grass at the base of the house. There was the sound of shattering glass and the acrid smell of chemicals. Fire bloomed at the base of the house, fueled by the dry grass and the even drier Hale house. Something in Derek’s heart seized as he watched his childhood home burn down for the second time. Nearby, Derek thought he heard Peter let out a pained whimper. 

“Scott,” Stiles shouted. Derek turned in time to see Scott diving into the car. The vehicle nearly backed into a tree before speeding back down the road from which it came. Derek glanced over at Peter and saw that his uncle was still staring glassily at the fire currently consuming the old abandoned house. 

Gently, Derek grabbed Peter’s arm and tugged. “Come on. The police are going to be here before long.” 

...

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Stiles muttered under his breath as he floored the Porsche down the main road. His heart pounded in his ears, rabbit-fast from the fear of being chased. 

“Slow down, we’re going to get pulled over dumbass,” Jackson yelled, voice pitched higher than normal. 

“It’s okay Stiles. I don’t think Peter’s chasing us,” Scott said. Stiles took a deep breath and forced himself to slow the car down until they were only 5 miles per hour above the speed limit instead of forty. They drove like that for a few minutes before Jackson broke the silence.

“Where the fuck are we going?” 

“The hospital. To see Lydia.” Stiles’s voice wavered despite his efforts to keep it steady. “We have to get to her before Peter does.”  _ And then what? Hide her away? Fight off Peter? _ Stiles buried that line of thought before his hands started shaking again. 

“No I need to go to Allison! Peter said that he was going to kill the rest of the Argents. He could be going over there right now.” Scott leaned forward over the glove compartment so that his head was right next to Stiles’s. “Stiles I have to protect her.” 

“Allison has wolfsbane bullets and literal army-grade guns. Lydia is unconscious. We’re  _ going  _ to the hospital.” Stiles was going to die on this hill.  

Scott was silent for a few seconds. “Stop the car.” 

“What,” Stiles and Jackson yelled in unison. 

“Stop the car, I’m getting out.” 

“What-- Scott, no! You are not running around out there by yourself. We’ll go after we make sure--FUCK.” Scott opened the door and jumped out before Stiles could even finish his sentence. Stiles hit the breaks and brought the Porsche to a jolting stop before getting out of the car. He scanned the area for a glimpse of his friend, but Scott had disappeared. 

“Are you shitting me,” Stiles muttered, closing Scott’s door and getting back into the driver’s seat. The idling engine purred back to life and the car sped down the road. 

...

They arrived at the hospital in merciful silence. Jackson seemed to sense Stiles’s foul mood and  refrained from saying or doing anything particularly douche-y. Of course this only lasted until they got out of the car. Stiles headed towards the hospital entrance before he heard the car engine restarting. He turned to see Jackson pulling out of the space Stiles had just parked into. Stiles stalked forward. “What the hell man? She was your girlfriend.” 

“Yeah, emphasis on was,” Jackson called back before his car screeched away. 

Stiles stood there, disappointed in himself for thinking Jackson would ever act like an empathetic human being. With a small shake of his head, Stiles hurried towards the hospital. 

Fortunately (or unfortunately) Stiles was very familiar with the layout of Beacon County Hospital. He’d spent a lot of time there when his mother had fell ill, and visited Mrs. McCall enough to know which closets and comatose patients’ rooms he could duck into. Stiles snuck past the bored receptionist, crept up a flight of stairs, and--after checking that the coast was clear--crawled into Lydia’s room. 

Somehow, comatose and bruises up her arms, Lydia still looked beautiful. Stiles didn’t have time to stare at his crush though; he was a man on a mission. Feeling a bit like a pervert, Stiles lifted up the hospital blanket to reveal her injured leg. The bandage was maroon from the blood that bled through. Stiles winced, but then steeled himself. Slowly, he peeled off the gauze, immediately turning his face away at the sight of the wound still oozing dark red blood. 

_ Wait... _ Stiles looked back, shock briefly overcoming his revulsion. The wound looked better than it did when Peter had bit her out on the football field, but Stiles had seen Scott heal. Scratches and cuts sealed up and faded away, leaving the skin flawless and good as new. Yes this cut was deeper than the occasional scrape, but it shouldn’t still look this bad. 

Stiles glanced over at his right wrist. The bandage was a bit loose from everything it had been through tonight. A quick tear at the adhesive revealed pure unblemished skin where fang marks had once been. Stiles stared at it. He’d known, intellectually, that he’d either become a werewolf or end up dead. But now the proof was staring him in the face. 

_ Do you want the bite?  _

Stiles redid both bandages, suddenly exhausted. He should go to Deaton and ask for help. Formulate a plan on how to deal with Peter. At least text Scott about what had happened to him. 

Instead Stiles laid his head on Lydia’s bed and passed out. 

...

Derek sat on his shitty motel bed, picking through a takeout box of lo mein. The CNN news anchor droned on about politics and taxes. Now and then he looked over at Peter, who had been on his phone and laptop the entire two days they’d been here. From what he could tell, Peter was trying to get his identity and money matters in order. 

He hadn’t heard anything about where they were going to go or live. Which frankly was making Derek feel a little on edge. An army of hunters was going to descend on Beacon Hills to shoot at the enormous target painted on their backs. The thought of leaving Hale territory for a second time evoked uncomfortable feelings of deja vu, but his and Peter’s little pack of two wouldn’t stand a chance. 

A thump came from the room next door. “Yes, harder daddy!” 

Derek scowled into his lo mein. At the very least, they had to get out of this shitty hotel room. It was dirty and ugly, the showers were lukewarm at best, and it had probably been the scene of many murders judging from the persistent smell of blood coming from the carpet. Their amateur pornstar neighbors also loved having extremely loud (and judging from all the exaggerated moans, fake) sex at the most inconvenient times. They were only here because the motel was cheap and shady enough that the receptionist didn’t comment on the fact that Peter and Derek were covered in dirt and twigs and splotches of blood. Derek thinks maybe they should have just stayed in the woods. 

“Can you get it done any sooner?” Peter growled. Derek could see his uncle’s fingernails start to elongate into claws. The person on the other answered, unsatisfactorily it seemed because Peter gave a curt, almost impatient reply before quickly ending the call. 

For a few seconds, there was only the sound of the evening news interspersed with exaggerated moans. Finally Derek asked tentatively, “So...are you getting your identity back?”

Peter waved his hand dismissively. “No. There would be too many questions if a formerly comatose burn patient started walking around town completely healed.” 

“We’re going back to Beacon Hills?” 

“Of course.” Derek couldn’t say he was too shocked. Peter had always preferred fighting over talking, even before the fire. He should have known better than to think Peter would even contemplate running. “This is Hale territory. The hunters-- _ the Argents _ are the ones who lit the match, and it’s their blood that’s going to put it out.” His lips tugged upward into a lazy smirk, fangs glinting in the dim overhead light. “Besides, I couldn’t leave my cute little beta behind.” 

“Scott won’t join you.” Derek’s mind was still reeling from Peter’s declaration of war. “He hates you.”

“And I thought trying to kill me was just his way of saying hello,” Peter said. “No I meant his friend Stiles.”

“...What.” Derek’s brain refused to process the words. 

Peter looked at him like he was stupid. “Must you be so dense. I bit Stiles Friday and since I haven’t seen any articles about the Sheriff’s son tragically dying from a dog bite, I assume the bite has taken.” 

Derek stared. “What the hell Peter.” His voice became louder and more agitated the more he spoke. “Did you even  _ ask? _ Why didn’t you tell me? Why aren’t we with Stiles right now he could be going out of his mind--”

“ _ Enough.” _ Peter’s eyes flashed. Derek immediately shut up and ducked his head. “I’m hardly going share my tactical plans with someone who sold out his pack for a pretty girl. We are at war. I need betas to build up strength, to build a  _ pack _ , and if that’s going to be a problem for you then I suggest you leave.”

There was complete silence. Even the couple next door had stopped having sex. Then Derek turned and walked out the door. He managed to keep it together until he was far enough away from the motel that he was sure no human looking out the window could see him. Then he let the shift finally take over and ran on all fours into the night. 

...

The cold winter wind howled in his ears and bit into his skin. His clawed hands dug into the asphalt below, anger sadness confusion propelling him faster. It was dark, so he allowed his other senses to guide and protect him. There weren’t many cars on the road this late anyway. 

He hadn’t intended to run towards anything. But the highway faded into familiar trees and forests and suddenly he was passing by a “Welcome to Beacon Hills” sign. Forests blurred into buildings. The post office, the sheriff’s station, apartment buildings, houses. 

He slowed, dark blobs turning into solid rectangles and triangles and suddenly he was standing in front of a familiar two story house, a sheriff’s car parked in the driveway. Derek stood up, his shift melting away until he looked human again. Well, except for his eyes, which he knew were still glowing bright blue. 

He should go, he thought. There was no way Stiles would welcome him. Not after everything that happened. 

_ But pack. Beta _ , his wolf whined.  _ Take care of new pup _ . 

“He’s not a puppy,” Derek growled to himself, already heading to the back of the house where Stiles’s bedroom window was. The room was dark and Derek couldn’t hear movement inside. Derek took a running leap and landed in front of Stiles’s window. In a practiced motion, Derek removed the screen and then the glass itself before climbing in. 

The bedroom smelled musty, and the bed looked like it hadn’t been slept in for the past couple days. Derek didn’t have time to wonder where Stiles had spent the last couple days before he heard someone climbing up the stairs. He hurried to the corner that he had been in the first time he had come to Stiles’s room. 

“I’m just tired Dad,” Stiles yelled downstairs, as he opened the door and turned on the overhead light. For a moment, Derek thought Stiles would fail to notice him, just like last time Derek was in his room. But then Stiles tensed, suddenly alert. He whirled around and growled at Derek, eyes flashing gold and teeth bared. The beta lunged forward and slapped his hand over Stiles’s mouth. Stiles clawed at the offending hand, and the two of them stumbled about, knocking over a chair. 

“You have to be quiet,” Derek hissed into the struggling wolf’s ear. “Your dad might come up and see you shifted.” 

Right on cue, the Sheriff called from the first floor. “Stiles, you okay kid?”

Stiles had stopped fighting. Derek reluctantly took his hand away from Stiles’s mouth, praying that this wouldn’t backfire on him. “I’m fine, no worries! Going to bed now.” 

They both strained their ears to hear if the Sheriff bought the lie. There was a small sigh and footsteps walking away. Stiles whirled around and shoved Derek, causing him to stumble backwards a few paces. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Stiles snarled, eyes blazing gold. 

“I-I came to see how you were doing,” Derek said lamely. 

Stiles spread his arms out wide. “Well you got your look. Clearly I’m doing swell.”

Stiles was not doing swell. He had dark purple bags under his eyes and he was as pale as a ghost. Derek wondered if Stiles had slept at all this entire weekend, and if so where. Clearly not in his bed. “How are your shifts? Have you found an anchor?”

“Oh so now you care.” Stiles scowled and folded his arms. “Could have fooled me? Do werewolves typically let their new bites wander around figuring shit out for themselves or is this a Hale specific thing.” 

“I only found out Peter gave you the bite an hour ago. I wouldn’t have let you deal with the change on your own otherwise.” 

That seemed to surprise Stiles. Then he narrowed his eyes. “If you care so much, then why did you side with that psycho?” Stiles crowded into Derek’s space. “He killed your sister, turned Scott,  _ mauled _ Lydia. What part of that sequence of events makes you think ‘man I should really follow him and do whatever he says.’”

Derek looked away and shrugged helplessly. His feelings on the matter were as strong as they were hard to explain. And Derek had never been good with words. “...You wouldn’t understand.” 

“Damn right I don’t.” Stiles eyed him for a couple seconds before sighing and turning away. “Can you please just leave. I really don’t want to see you right now.” 

“...Okay,” Derek said reluctantly. “But if you need help, just let me know.” It suddenly struck Derek that Stiles didn’t have any means to reach him. The old Hale house that he had been squatting in had burned down, and he and Peter were hopefully going to leave the motel for a nicer place, so Derek couldn’t give Stiles an address. Finally, Derek went over to Stiles’s desk, scribbled something on a pale blue post-it, and handed it to Stiles. 

When he and Laura had first left for New York, Laura had forced him to get a cell phone. Derek hadn’t even turned it on since Laura had died, but he had kept it with him and maybe now it would actually serve a purpose. 

Stiles took the post-it, frowning down at the number. He opened his mouth to say something, but Derek had already turned and climbed out the window. 

The walk back to the motel was long, but quiet and peaceful. As he climbed up the stairs to the shared room, Derek briefly worried if Peter would even let him back. Derek had left after all, and in some packs that alone was grounds for expulsion. But the motel room was ajar, dim light spilling out into the hallway. When Derek entered, he spotted Peter at his usual place behind the desk, typing away on his computer. The alpha glanced up at Derek, inclined his head, and turned his attention back to his work. 

It was a lukewarm welcome, but it was enough. Derek’s shoulders lowered, tension he didn’t even know he was holding onto bleeding away. He collapsed onto his bed with a grunt and soon fell asleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles had learned at a young age that no matter what happened, life moved on--but it still blew his mind every time. He was a freaking werewolf. His body and maybe even DNA had fundamentally changed into a creature of the night. Yet here he was puttering into the school parking lot in his beat up jeep, getting ready for yet another Monday. The mundanity of it all would make him laugh if he wasn’t so damn tired. 

When Stiles entered English class first period, the first thing he noticed was Scott sitting forlornly in Allison’s seat. The usual resident of that spot was nowhere to be found. 

Stiles slid into the desk in front of Scott, the one that Scott had temporarily abandoned. “Hey--” 

“Dude, Allison’s gone,” Scott dropped his head into his hands in despair. Stiles grimaced with annoyance then winced in pain. His right hand had sprouted claws and were digging into his thigh. Stiles quickly curled his hand into a fist to hide the claws. He’d been shifting on and off since Saturday. From what he could tell, it was mostly dependent on his emotions and stress levels, which was unfortunate because he had never been very good at managing either. 

Class started before either Scott or Stiles could ruminate further. Scott communicated most of his story between classes. 

The Argents had left by the time Scott arrived at the house. Scott rushed through the house, trying to find his girlfriend, only to see an empty armory and no SUV in the garage. Desperate, Scott raced home and immediately got out his cell. His call went to voicemail, but Allison texted back, explaining everything. 

The minute Allison brought her dad home and told her mom what happened, Victoria Argent had started packing up the family into car. Within ten minutes she was starting the car and driving away as fast as possible. At the time, Victoria refused to tell Allison exactly where they were going, only that it would be safer and more easily defendable. Eventually, they stopped at Oregon, where Allison’s grandfather was living a secluded house in the woods. They’d spent the weekend taking care of Chris Argent’s concussion and beginning Allison’s formal hunter training. 

“She doesn’t know when she’s coming back,” Scott moaned into his pudding. They were sitting alone in their usual corner of the cafeteria. Lydia had pointedly refused to sit with them, choosing to eat with her usual crowd. Stiles couldn’t help but think she looked lonely without Allison and Jackson by her side. “She doesn’t even know if she’s coming back at all. No one’s telling her anything!”

“What are they planning on doing about Peter then?” Stiles asked, trying to steer the conversation back to more relevant topics. 

“She says they’ve been making some phone calls and she thinks her grandpa might come. Apparently he’s been pretty excited about the idea of hunting Peter down. But every time she asks her parents if she can come back they change the subject.”

“Uh Scotty, it sounds like we might have bigger problems.” At Scott’s blank look, Stiles gestured wildly. “Big bad alpha, hunters with a grudge, our wolfy problem. Ring any bells?”

Scott shook his head. “It’s Peter they’re gunning for and I’m not a part of Peter’s pack. I’ll be fine if I keep my head down and get out of their way.” Scott glanced at Stiles. “Lydia will be too. I can teach her how to control the shift and resist Peter. Besides, Allison wouldn’t let them kill her best friend.” 

Stiles wanted to shake his best friend and scream at him. He could feel his canines elongating and forced himself to take a deep breath. “Wow that’s a lot to unpack. First of all, I don’t think that’s how it works dude. Look at what happened to the Hales. They weren’t doing anything wrong, but Kate Argent still torched their house with them inside. They’re not going to give you a pass just because you’ve been a good boy.

“Second, Lydia’s not a werewolf.  _ But _ \--” Stiles continued, not giving Scott a chance to interject even though the other boy clearly wanted to. “ _ But  _ if she was, it’s not like Allison would be able to stop her family or any other hunters from going after her. And by extension you. Why would they listen to her over her mom or her dad? Who, if you’ve forgotten, hate you. Because you’re a werewolf.”

“Yeah I got that,” Scott muttered, but Stiles ignored him. He was too busy trying to fight down the lump in his throat. He took a shuddering breath. 

“And so am I.”

“What?”

“I’m-I’m a werewolf. Peter bit me a couple hours before he showed up at the Hale house. The bite healed up by the time I visited Lydia in the hospital, so I guess that means it took.” 

Scott stared, eyes wide and mouth gaping. “Dude...why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried. Who the hell do you think’s been calling you all weekend and texting you ‘We have to talk.’”

Scott looked away and hunched his shoulders. “I’m sorry, man. I thought you were still mad at me for leaving the car to go to Allison’s house.”

“I am,” Stiles said. Scott ducked his head. 

“Yeah...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bailed like that.” Stiles nodded

They were quiet for a moment before Scott pulled Stiles in for a hug. “Hey, we’ll get through this. I’ll show you how to control it and we’ll find you an anchor. We’re a pack now, and nothing is gonna get to us.” 

“I was the one who showed you how to control it you dope.” Stiles said with half smile, returning the hug as he did. He appreciated the sentiment. 

...

Scott and Stiles skipped lacrosse practice that afternoon to figure out how to control Stiles’s shift. Stiles had already chosen an anchor, his dad, and although it stopped him from attacking Scott when the Scott started pelting him with lacrosse balls, it still didn’t seem as effective an anchor as Allison was for Scott. Stiles glared at the ball in his hand; he’d stopped himself from crushing it in frustration, but not from sinking his claws into the rubber. 

“No worries,” Scott said, clapping him on the back. “You’ll get there. Let’s try again tomorrow.” 

But tomorrow brought its own set of problems. His senses, which had been getting noticeably more acute over time, suddenly became ten times more sensitive. 

_ Lemony shampoo _ . 

“You’re not going to believe...”

_ Sweaty armpits _ . 

“...didn’t have time to shower...”

Stiles groaned and put his head on the desk. It smelled of graphite and old gum, and didn’t help his headache at all. The intensity of all the sounds and smells were too much for his still adapting brain to handle. 

“Alright cupcakes,” Finstock yelled, bringing the class to attention. Stiles winced at the volume. Why was Coach always so loud? “Put your phones away we’re starting class.” 

Stiles didn’t even bother trying to focus on Finstock’s lecture on supply and demand curves. The bite had helped with his ADHD a bit, but Stiles didn’t know if that improvement was worth the sensory overload he was getting just by sitting at his desk. 

The smells were the worst. “Bro, are you okay?” Scott asked as Stiles gagged into a napkin. Stiles lifted his head to give him a ‘do I look okay’ face, and made the mistake of breathing in. The smell of grease, spoiled food, and body odor brought on another wave of nausea and Stiles gagged into his napkin again. He’d never been more glad for an empty stomach. 

“I’m going out,” Stiles croaked. He dashed out of the cafeteria and burst out of a side door. He doubled over panting, gasping in scents of car fumes, stale cigarette smoke, and distant forest breeze. Groaning, Stiles plopped onto the curb, burying his head in his hands. 

“Dude, you should try to go home. Tell the nurse you’re sick or something.” Stiles looked up to see Scott sitting down next to him. 

“Yeah maybe.” Stiles sighed. “How did you deal with all this?”

Scott shrugged. “It wasn’t this bad. I mean, yeah, I got overwhelmed and distracted sometimes, but I never felt like I was gonna throw up or anything.” 

Stiles nodded, disappointed. The bell rang so the two of them got up and parted ways: Scott to Chemistry and Stiles to the nurse’s office. As he waited for his turn to be examined, Stiles pulled out his phone to pass the time. He checked his emails, scrolled through Twitter, replied to a message from Scott...and then his eyes fell on a name in his contact list. 

Sourwolf. 

His thumb hovered over the name. On one hand, he and Derek weren’t technically on the same team. Derek also tended to give pretty shitty advice (telling Scott to control his wolf through anger was the opposite of helpful). But Stiles was also desperate, and Derek had way more experience being a werewolf and probably had some idea of how to deal with sensory overload. 

“Mr. Stilinski.” the nurse called.

“One second.” Stiles quickly typed out ‘ _ School is smelly and loud. Any advice on how to deal? _ ’ before heading over to the nurse’s station. A quick examination and a phone call to the Sheriff later, Stiles was excused for the rest of the school day. 

Stiles drove home very carefully, flinching at car horns half a mile away and flooring it away from the dead skunk in the middle of the road. Finally, he got home and collapsed onto his bed, drained. His phone chirped. 

_ Have something with your own scent (or one you like). It helps filter out bad smells. Also invest in good earplugs. Also try training your senses in the woods.  _

The text after it was a link to a brand of ear plugs. A grin stretched across Stiles’s face. Maybe Derek wasn’t so bad after all. 

...

Derek turned off the water and stepped out of the shower into a steam-filled bathroom. He hummed in contentment as he dried himself off. He and Peter had left the motel two days ago for this loft at the top of an industrial apartment complex in downtown Beacon Hills--the opposite of where Derek thought they would settle, to be honest. It wasn’t in the best shape, but the shower alone meant that it was leagues better than the room they had been in. 

Still toweling his hair, Derek stepped out of the bathroom and into the living room area--and froze. A curly-haired blonde kid was sitting on one of the only two chairs in the loft. His face and hair were grimy and he was pressing a rag against his shoulder. He looked up when Derek walked in, his eyes wide and fearful. 

They stared at each other until Peter suddenly stepped in from the kitchen, holding a plate with a turkey sandwiches on it. “Ah, I see you’ve met Isaac.” He offered a sandwich to Isaac, who took it reluctantly. 

“Who is he? What is he doing here?”

“Well you see,” Peter began, picking his own sandwich off the plate. “I was scouting out my territory and just so happened to be in the cemetery when I hear a cry for help. Isaac here had fallen into a hole and a backhoe was blocking the entrance. Being the good Samaritan that I am, I lifted up the backhoe and helped him out. But since I had revealed my supernatural abilities to him, I couldn’t just let him walk away.”

“So you bit him.” Derek was suddenly exhausted. “Why did you bring him here then?”

“Why Derek, you’re the one who’s always scolding me for leaving new bites to figure things out on their own.” Peter’s tone was light but his eyes were sharp. Derek wondered if this was a test; maybe Peter wanted to see if Derek was dedicated to building a pack and fighting off the hunters. 

Derek sighed and turned to Isaac. “Do you want to take a shower?” Isaac shook his head, his heart increasing with the lie. “The bathroom is down the hall, second door to the right.”

He turned to go get a clean towel and a change of clothes, feeling Peter’s eyes boring a hole in his back as he left. 

...

Surprisingly, Derek’s advice actually kind of worked. Stiles carried around one of his old worn sweatshirts around with him all day around school, and smashed his face into it whenever he needed to. Did people give him weird looks? Sure. Did Harris threaten to give him detention for supposedly sleeping in class? Yep. But he no longer felt the urge to vomit whenever he went to the bathroom or the locker room so that was a plus. There wasn’t much he could do about the sounds. He couldn’t exactly wear ear plugs during class. 

The success of the first half of Derek’s advice made Stiles more willing to give the second half a shot. Luckily, the Sheriff was doing a late shift that night. So after dropping off a healthy chicken salad dinner at the station, Stiles drove towards the preserve. Parking at the entrance of the trails, Stiles got out of his jeep and started hiking into the pitch black woods.

The smell of wood and damp leaves and earth and actual fresh air felt like taking a shower after being covered in mud all day. Stiles took great gasping lungfuls of the cool night air. It was so dark that he could barely see his hand in front of his face, but his hearing made up for it. He could hear  _ everything _ \--the sway of the leaves above, the hoot of the owl ten yards away, the rustle of a rabbit. 

The last part caught his attention. Instinctively, Stiles dropped to all fours and tore after that fluttering heartbeat. The rabbit’s hard spiked as it dashed away. Stiles chased it for a couple meters before it dove into a burrow. Stiles clawed at the entrance, trying to dig it out when he heard the crinkling of feet on dry leaves. He turned just as a dark, shaggy figure tackled him from out of nowhere. Stiles went sprawling. 

“What the hell!” Stiles growled, hurriedly getting back onto his feet. 

The creature--werewolf, Stiles realized, looking at the ridges of the wolf’s brow--smelled of dirt and trash. He was also too thin; his tackle had knocked Stiles off his feet, but that was more from surprise than weight. The wolf looked at Stiles, confused. “You’re not him,” he said, before dashing off in the opposite direction. 

“Whaa-- wait!,” Stiles shouted, giving chase. Who was he? What was he doing in the preserve? Were there way more werewolves in town than he thought? Did they all come for runs in the preserve in their off time? 

The two of them ran through the woods, Stiles steadily gaining ground. Suddenly the other wolf went flying through the air, hands over his head. He’d been caught in a snare. Stiles scrambled to a stop in front of the other wolf, intending to help him down, when he was abruptly dragged away by all too familiar leather jacket-clad arms. 

“What are you doing,” Stiles said as Derek hauled him behind a tree. 

“It’s too late, they’re already here.” 

Chris Argent and a group of hunters stepped from the shadows of the trees and approached the thrashing werewolf. There was a crackle of electricity as Chris tased the werewolf. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” 

“I-I came looking for the alpha.” The were, now an unkempt middle-aged man, was shaking.

The old man standing next to Chris suddenly turned to the rest of the group. “Gentleman, we’ve caught a rare beast. A lone wolf.” Old Man walked slowly over to his bag. There was the high-pitched sound of steel scraping metal as Old Man pulled out a fucking broadsword. “And now, I’m about to demonstrate exactly why they’re so rare.”

“Fuck,” Stiles muttered, tensing up. Derek’s hold tightened in response. What the fuck were they just going to stand here and watch--

_ Thunk _ .

“Oh my fucking Jesus Christ,” Stiles whimpered. He must have been making too much noise because Derek’s hand moved up to cover his mouth. Stiles closed his eyes, unable to keep looking. 

“No more Code,” Old Psycho declared. “Not when they murder my daughter. From now on these things are just bodies waiting to be buried.” 

They remained there while the hunters cleaned up after themselves and didn’t move until Derek was absolutely sure that there was no one around. Neither of them talked on the walk back to the jeep, the heavy silence suffocating both of them. It was only when Stiles was about to climb into the driver’s side that Derek finally spoke.

“This is why you-- _ we _ \--need Peter. Wolves need a pack and a pack needs an alpha. You might not like him, and I can’t say that I blame you. But without him, we’re easy pickings.” Derek looked Stiles dead in the eye. “Lone wolves don’t last.”

“I--” Stiles couldn’t speak, couldn’t look him in the eye. “I need to think.” He got into the car and left as quickly as possible. On the ride back, his hands kept trembling and he kept shifting as he chewed his bottom lip, cutting his lip on his fang every time he did so. Finally, he got back to his room and was surrounded by scents of home and safety and den. The Sheriff still wasn’t back, which was for the best. Stiles wasn’t in any shape to pretend to be a normal kid. 

_ Bzz. _ Derek had messaged him.  _ 735 Falls Street.  _

Stiles closed his eyes and curled into a ball on his bed. He didn’t want to go, but it didn’t seem he had much choice. 


	3. Chapter 3

Relief and warmth surged through Derek as he watched the beat-up blue jeep pull into the driveway of their building. “Huh.” Peter peered down at the little shape as it climbed out of the car and walked towards the building entrance. “That took longer than I thought it would.”

“I’ll let him in,” Derek said, already on his way to the iron elevator. 

“I can’t believe how perfectly this place matches your aesthetic,” Stiles said as soon as Derek opened the front door. His heartbeat was elevated and his eyes kept darting around, as if expecting a threat to come jumping out at any minute. “I mean come on, huge steel and concrete building, a  _ caged _ elevator. Are your neighbors like witches or vampires or something?”

“We don’t have any neighbors. We own the building.” Stiles made a choking noise and opened his mouth to say something when the elevator dinged open. 

“Hello Stiles,” Peter greeted. The alpha was lounging on the sofa, radiating smugness.

Stiles ignored him, too busy staring at the other person on the couch. “Isaac?”

“Stiles?” Isaac looked, ironically, like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“You’re a werewolf?”

“ _ You’re _ a werewolf?”

“Yes we’re all werewolves, that’s why we’re all here. Let’s get back to the point,” Peter interjected irritably. “Are you here to join the pack?”

Stiles turned his attention to Peter, body defensive and expression guarded. “I’m weighing my options.” He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like you, but I like the hunters even less so...enemy of an enemy I suppose.”

Peter’s eyes gleamed. “Well then let’s see what we can offer each other.” He got up in one smooth motion. Isaac, Stiles, and Derek followed him to the floor below the loft, which was clean but completely empty. The stone floor and walls were completely bare. Peter moved to stand a few feet away from Stiles. “Stiles, show us what you can do.”

“Huh?”

Derek pushed him forward. “You’re sparring with him.” 

“Uh, I thought the whole point of me being here was to learn control--” Peter lunged at Stiles. The smaller beta moved in time for the alpha’s tackle to clip him rather than send him sprawling. They both recovered and Derek watched as Stiles’s eyes flashed gold and his face morphed into the beta shift. Peter shifted as well.  

They circled each other, Peter throwing some experimental hits now and then. Stiles had good reaction time; the constant distraction and movement he’d displayed as a human seemed to help him predict when and where Peter was going to attack. Unfortunately, the bite had done nothing for Stiles’s clumsiness. The wolf was still unfamiliar with his new strength and speed. Both Isaac and Derek snorted when Stiles tripped over his own feet. 

Stiles and Peter exchanged blows a few more times. Stiles began using his smaller size to his advantage, ducking under Peter’s wilder throws and deflecting more instead of trying to take blows head on. And he never gave up. No matter how many times Peter knocked him to his feet or sent him flying with a casual flick of his arm, Stiles was back on his feet and ready to attack. Derek could see grudging respect on Peter’s face. 

“Alright enough,” Peter declared, shifting back to his human form. Stiles, on the other hand, darted in, trying to take advantage of Peter’s lowered guard and get another blow in. Peter easily batted him away.

“What, tired already?” Stiles taunted, grinning in a way that displayed his fangs. 

“I said enough,” Peter snarled, eyes flashing red and voice lowering into the alpha voice. Derek could feel his eyes flash in response while beside him Isaac let out a low whimper. Stiles’s smile slid off his face but he kept looking Peter dead in the eye.

“Okay, I get it, practice over,” Stiles said, finally breaking eye contact. He started dusting himself off and inspecting his clothing and himself for tears and scratches. 

“Come back Tuesday for the full moon.” Peter turned and walked away before Stiles could give an answer. 

Stiles made a face. “Damn, what crawled up his ass and died.” 

Derek shrugged. Just because he lived with the guy didn’t mean he understood him. “Do you need me to show you out?”

...

“Hey do you want to stay over at my house tonight? Mom’s working late so it’ll just be the two of us,” Scott asked Tuesday morning.

“Uh...” Stiles said, unsure of how to tell his best friend that he was probably going to be going to Peter’s building tonight.

Suddenly Scott’s eyes widened. “Oh my god. Allison!” 

Stiles turned to see Allison Argent walk into the classroom, head down and eyes wary. She looked over at where Scott was waving his arms and calling her name, and pointedly chose a seat as far away from him as possible. 

“All students report to the auditorium for an assembly.” 

“Allison, Allison,” Scott hurried to be by her side as the class filed into the hallway. “Hey, why didn’t you tell me you were back?” He reached out to touch her arm. Allison whirled around and smacked the offending hand away. 

“Leave me alone Scott. I can’t be around you right now.” She powerwalked to the front of the group. Scott slowed to a stop, looking like a puppy whose owner had just closed the door on his face. 

“Come on dude,” Stiles said, patting Scott’s back in sympathy and to get him to keep moving. “Let’s go.” 

Stiles continued to try and comfort Scott up until they entered the auditorium. Standing on the stage, smiling like he was everyone’s grandfather, was the old man who’d cut the lone wolf in half. “Holy shit,” Stiles breathed, stopping in his tracks. It was only when a teacher hissed at him to get in his seat that Stiles broke out of his shock.

“Good morning everyone,” Crazy Old Man said once everyone got settled. “Principal Worthington was in a very unfortunate car accident last night. He’s currently on the road to recovery, and I know we all wish him the best of healthy in these hard times. Until he is able to return, I, Gerard Argent, will be serving as acting principal.”

“That’s Allison’s grandpa,” Scott hissed, elbowing Stiles. Gerard continued talking, but the rest of his speech was drowned out the sirens blaring in Stiles’s head. He wanted to run out of the auditorium screaming. Instead, he did the only thing he could do: discretely pull out his phone and type out a warning to Derek. 

_ Things will be okay _ , Stiles tried to tell himself as Gerard’s speech ended and the entire school went trudging back to their respective classrooms.  _ Yeah he basically has all the power here, but it’s still a high school. He can’t just shoot me in the middle of the hallway. Does he even know that I’m a werewolf? Thank god I quit the lacrosse team yesterday-- _

Stiles froze. Isaac and Scott were still on the team. Gerard probably already knew that Scott was a werewolf, but Isaac was a recent bite. Stiles wanted to run around the school looking for him, but doubtless Gerard was watching him and Scott closely, and being that conspicuous would lead Gerard right to Isaac. 

Instead, Stiles waited after school in the boys locker room. “Isaac, buddy, got a minute,” Stiles said, dragging Isaac into a corner. 

“What the hell, I got practice in ten minutes.” 

“Yeah that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” Stiles looked around to make sure that no one was secretly in a stall listening in. “You need to stop playing lacrosse.” 

“What.” 

“The new principal, Gerard Argent, he’s a hunter and he’s nuts. I watched him cut someone in half on Wednesday. Now he’s going to take one look at your new and improved lacrosse skills and know. I’d rather not have to attend your funeral, so you should stop playing. Like today. Or tomorrow. Sometime soon would be nice. Why are you looking at me like I’m nuts?”

“Because I’m not quitting now that I’m finally getting good. Derek can’t make me, and neither can you.” Isaac stormed away, almost walking into Scott who was coming over. 

“Hey, what was that all about?” Scott said, gesturing at Isaac. 

“Nothing,” Stiles mumbled, frustration and helplessness weighing heavily on his chest. 

“Oh, well do you want to meet up after practice and head over to my house?” Stiles heard the unspoken ‘for the full moon.’ 

“I, uh, was actually planning on going to...Peter’s for the full moon.” 

Scott stared at him disbelievingly. “That’s not funny.” 

“You know, contrary to popular belief, I’m usually not trying to be funny.” 

“What the hell dude,” Scott exploded. The locker room fell silent and all eyes turned to them. “Sorry,” Scott called, smiling and trying to wave off the attention. As soon as people started going back to their own business, Scott hissed, “What the hell dude. Do you not remember that he’s a psycho murderer who turned me into a monster.” 

“And don’t you remember that hunters are coming to play pest control. Hell Gerard Argent, Kate’s  _ dad _ is our new principal. She got her crazy from somewhere.” 

“They’re only here for Peter though,” Scott insisted. “We haven’t done anything. They have a Code. They’ll leave us alone.” 

Stiles facepalmed. Talking to Scott was like trying to walk through a brick wall. “Listen,” Stiles said, lifting his head to look Scott straight in the eye. “I was in the preserve Wednesday night and I saw Gerard Argent cut a trapped werewolf in half. I  _ heard _ him say that he 

wasn’t going to follow the Code anymore and that we’re just bodies to be buried.” 

“But you don’t have to go to Peter. We can do it together. We’re a pack.” Scott’s eyes were shining with determination. They made Stiles want to scream. 

“We’re not a pack! We’re alone and we have no idea what we’re doing and we’re easy pickings for anyone with some wolfsbane bullets.” 

Scott was making his disappointed face. “You really don’t have any faith in me, huh.” 

“It’s not about faith or trust, man. It’s survival.” But Scott was already walking away. 

“Stilinski, what are you doing here? Thinking about coming to the team already?” Finstock looked oddly excited by the idea, even though Stiles had been a benchwarmer all the way to his resignation. 

Stiles waved him off. “No Coach, I was just leaving.” 

...

“We won’t be needing those,” Peter said when he saw the chains in Derek’s hands. Derek had driven two hours out of town to find a hardware store that sold strong enough chains, and was a bit miffed to have his efforts so quickly rejected. 

“I don’t think they’ll be able to master their anchors by tonight,” Derek said. 

Peter shrugged. “Then I suppose we’ll have to teach them their place.” 

Unease bubbled in Derek’s gut, but he put the chains away and went to check that everything was ready for the full moon. Stiles and Isaac were showing up at 5:30, and then he would be too busy looking after them to do anything else. 

5:30 came and went and neither teen showed up. It was 6:20 now. The sun had long since set and Derek could feel the full moon climbing higher in the sky. He was on the verge of going out to look for them; any longer and they would be in serious risk of being overtaken by their shift. Finally, he heard a jeep pull into the driveway. He vaulted down the stairs and flung open the door before Stiles had a chance to knock. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Derek snarled, dragging the two of them inside. 

“Stiles and I were hungry so we stopped for some food,” Isaac responded quickly, glaring at Stiles. Stiles glared back, irises flashing gold. Derek internally rolled his eyes at the obvious lie. He didn’t even need to listen to Isaac’s heartbeat. The kid smelled of sweat and grass rather than grease and spices.

“Well then, I guess you two aren’t going to be needing dinner,” he said, shoving them into the elevator. 

As if on cue, both their stomachs growled loudly. “Uh, I’m still very down for dinner,” Stiles said, ears turning red. Isaac nodded emphatically. The elevator dinged, and they all stepped out into the training room. Stiles whistled. “Nice renovations.” 

The day after Stiles had first shown up at the den, Peter had decided that it was time to start training Derek and Isaac. After being thrown into the hard stone one too many times, Derek went out and bought some gym mats. Now the floor was mostly covered in black foam mats with some lining the wall as well. Hopefully Stiles and Isaac wouldn’t rip them up too badly (Derek wasn’t holding his breath). 

Derek reached down and opened the red cooler he’d placed near the elevator. He took out two enormous BLT sandwiches and gave them to Stiles and Isaac before taking one for himself. The teens attacked their dinner with gusto. “Wherf’s Petur?” Stiles asked around a mouthful of food.

“He’s upstairs eating his own dinner,” Derek said, trying not to grimace at the mess the two betas were making on the new mats. “He’ll probably come down at 7 or 7:30. That’s when the moon starts affecting your head.” Isaac finished his sandwich, Stiles not far behind him. Derek pulled out a few more from the cooler. “Maybe we’ll have pack dinners upstairs once you gain more control over your shifts, but until then you’re stuck down here in case bloodlust strikes early.” 

By the time the three of them finished their dinners the moon had climbed high enough for shine through the boarded up windows. Stiles and Isaac had become restless, pacing around the floor, flashing their eyes and growling at any perceived threats or infractions. Derek could feel the power of the moon buzzing in his bones, urging him to roam, hunt, kill. 

Suddenly the growls became snarls and the two teens began twitching and writhing. Hands clawed at the floor as the moon forced them into the beta shift. One minute Stiles and Isaac were screaming on the floor, the next they were locked in battle, each trying to destroy the other. Derek shifted in case one of them ended up in serious danger, but otherwise let them have at it. At least they were taking their aggression out on people who could handle it.

Peter choose that moment to stroll in carrying a large box. His eyes were blood red. “Started the party without me I see.” 

The fighting paused as twin sets of golden eyes turned towards Peter. “Derek why don’t you deal with Isaac, and I’ll take care of Stiles.” 

Against his better judgment Derek obeyed. He turned and searched for Isaac. While Stiles was busy rushing at Peter, Isaac was running away. The beta was huddled at the far end of floor, snarling at the air and digging his claws in his skin. Derek hurried over, worried that Isaac might be one of the few wolves who tore themselves apart during the full moon. Isaac turned to look at Derek as he crouched down in front of the beta. To Derek’s shock, Isaac’s eyes were clear and lucid.  

“How you doing?” 

“Not terrible I guess.” Isaac’s body spasmed and his claws dug blood in his head. But then it passed and Isaac relaxed. 

Derek put a comforting hand on Isaac’s shoulder. “That’s good. I think you’ll be okay now.” A shrill scream echoed throughout the floor. Derek turned to see Peter holding Stiles’s arm down at an unnatural angle. 

“I’m definitely doing better than Stiles at least,” Isaac said wryly. Derek stood up and gestured for Isaac to start heading over. Unable to bear the pain anymore, Stiles finally bared his neck. Peter let him go, though not without a harsh cuff on the head for his insolence. Stiles limped away, cradling his right arm. 

Satisfied, Peter turned his attention to the rest of his pack. “How is Isaac?” Peter asked, flashing his eyes. Derek and Isaac immediately looked away and bared their necks.

“Isaac is controlling his shift. He should be fine for the rest of the night,” Derek said. 

Peter raised an eyebrow. “It’s good to see one of the new recruits is doing well at least.” Peter went over to the crate he’d brought with him. It was shaking and emitting a cacophony of rapid heartbeats. Peter reached in and pulled out a rabbit by the foot. “Isaac you can try your hand at hunting.” 

Isaac looked sickened. Derek reluctantly edged away, the crying figure in the corner of the room demanded his attention. 

Stiles’s defeat hadn’t broken his spirit in the end. The whimpers turned to warning growls as Derek got closer. Derek let out a low, soothing rumble to try and calm him. He was less than a foot away when Stiles struck. He sunk his teeth into Derek’s right hand and his claws into Derek’s side and clung there. Derek grimaced in pain. But rather than try to shake Stiles off, Derek wrapped his other arm around the trembling wolf and sat down so that he was essentially cradling Stiles in his lap. Slowly, he put his left hand on Stiles’s injured wrist and started draining the pain. 

Some of the beta’s shaking subsided and his jaw grip on Derek’s hand loosened enough for Derek to shake it off and beginning rubbing comforting circles into the top of Stiles’s head. Eventually, Stiles leaned into Derek and put his head on Derek’s shoulder. They stayed like that, watching Isaac hunt down rabbits until Peter called them over. 

Derek watched as Stiles headed over when called, bared his neck when Peter flashed his eyes, and basically went through all the motions of submission. Stiles didn’t mean it though. Derek could tell from the way he refused to avert his eyes and the way he kept his head raised high even while showing his long pale neck. Stiles had retreated, not given in. And judging by the way Peter kept baring his teeth at Stiles, the alpha knew it too. Derek just hoped that Stiles would figure out a way to bend before Peter decided to break him. 

...

“Peter’s not usually like that,” Derek said. He had woken up at six in the morning to find Stiles clumsily trying to bandage the wounds he’d received from last night. Sleepily offered to do it for him and surprisingly Stiles took him up on it. Now Stiles was sitting on a barstool. Derek was crouched by his feet, stitching up a large gash on his leg that wouldn’t stop bleeding. 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Stiles said dully. He was clutching an ice pack to his right arm. The sharp smell of pain and confusion filled the air. 

“It’s because you don’t submit,” Derek said after a pause. “He had to beat you down before you bared your neck and even then you were surrendering, not submitting.” Derek’s lips quirked. “Peter likes control, and it pisses him off that he can’t just flash his eyes at you to make you do what he wants.” 

“I’ve always had problems with authority,” Stiles admitted, humor coming back into his voice. There was another moment of silence before Stiles asked, “hey, can I ask you a question.” 

“Depends on the question.”

“Why did you side with Peter? I don’t know much about alphas but he’s not a good leader. He doesn’t seem to treat you very well either.” 

Derek focused on finishing the stitches, gathering his thoughts as he carefully tied a knot and cut the excess string. “I was trained to be a beta. The alpha spark passes down through the women in my family, so even if something happened to Laura, there was always Cora, or even my baby sister.” He was never meant to be alpha. Things tended to fall apart (or burn to the ground) when he tried to do things on his own. “Peter’s not perfect, but he does what needs to be done. He doesn’t let anything stop him from getting what he wants.”

“That doesn’t sound like it’s going to last in the long run,” Stiles said quietly. 

Derek shrugged. He probably wasn’t going to be around in the long run. He wiped away the blood around the stitches and stood up. “Do you want some breakfast?”


	4. Chapter 4

Over the next few weeks the size of the pack more than doubled. First was Erica. Peter was desperate for more betas. Erica was desperate to stop having seizures and finally start living her life. She’d accepted without hesitation. Next was Boyd. Stiles hadn’t realized that Boyd had been turned until he got so good at lacrosse he made first line. 

The two of them started hanging out with Stiles and Isaac during class and lunch. Stiles insisted that this was a terrible idea--they might as well be waving a neon sign that said ‘werewolf pack here”--but deep down he liked having a pack to hang out with. Even if Isaac was a douche, Erica was a little too rough for his liking, and Boyd mostly ignored him. He and Scott weren’t really on speaking terms at the moment. 

Then Jackson of all people came strutting down the hallway, new strength and cockiness on display for the world to see. His lacrosse playing improve tenfold; he also became ten times more insufferable too. 

“Why the fuck did Peter bite  _ him _ ?” Stiles grumbled to Derek as they drove down to the grocery store to pick up some supplies. Stiles had jumped at an excuse to get away from the apartment building despite the mandatory training session. His shoulder still hurt from when Jackson had slammed him into a locker earlier that day. Jackson seemed to take Stiles’s newfound healing abilities as an invitation to abuse him more than he had before. “He’s selfish and narcissistic and shallow and--and--ugh.”

“He came to the den and begged Peter for the bite,” Derek said with a small smile. “Literally Peter made him get on his knees and beg. I think I even saw a tear or two.” 

Stiles snickered. “Man I wish there was a video. Or at least a photo. I missed out on prime blackmail material.”

Somewhere in-between a few lone wolves had appeared and joined as well. One was a middle-aged man named Kenneth who mostly kept to himself. The other was a woman in her late twenties named Vanessa. She seemed nice enough, but Stiles barely had time to register her existence before she fell victim to a wolfsbane bullet and stopped existing. The end result was that Peter started mandatory wolfsbane strengthening exercises. He also became unhappily familiar with aconite poisoning. 

“Being able to continue fighting for a couple minutes more will mean the difference between life and death,” Peter lectured the rest of the pack while Stiles sat behind him, acting as the demonstration. Beads of sweat and black veins covered his entire body as the poison made its way from the place where Peter had shot him with the wolfsbane bullet. He’d dug out the bullet, but his hand was shaking too much from the pain to properly burn the poison out. Finally, Derek was allowed to help him. Stiles would laugh at the irony of their switched positions if he wasn’t busy crying. 

The silver lining to that hellish storm cloud was that Stiles became very good at treating wolfsbane injuries. So when he and Scott got shot by poisoned arrows outside of Scott’s house while the two of them were trying to restore their bonds of brotherhood after weeks of silence (rude much), Stiles didn’t panic. In fact, he was eerily calm as he dragged a hyperventilating Scott inside the house and got an emergency kit from his bag. Judging from the sweet smell, the hunter had used larkspurleaf monkswood, which Stiles had plenty of in the kit. Fifteen minutes, some fire, and a lot of blood later, the two of them lay gasping on the kitchen floor. 

“You saved my life.” Stiles couldn’t help but preen a little at the awe in Scott’s voice. 

The near death experience softened Scott’s stubbornness. Eventually Stiles was able to convince him to give Peter’s pack a shot. Scott still hated Peter, not even a brush against death could change that, but even he had to admit that the training was very useful. Things were good. Well, except for Peter. 

It was little things. Hits that were a little too hard, touches that left bruises, the fact that Stiles was always the one he demonstrated new moves or training exercises on. “Today I will show you how to disarm an opponent.” He gestured at Stiles. Stiles sighed and got to his feet, used to being the punching bag at this point. 

Peter had him stand behind him with an gun pointed at Peter’s back. Stiles knew there was an ordinary bullet in there, but he couldn’t help but fantasize about shooting Peter. For his own personal satisfaction if nothing else. His brief imagine spot was probably why he didn’t have enough time to pull the trigger before Peter had tossed the gun aside and thrown Stiles onto the floor with a resounding  _ Thwunk. _ Head spinning and ears ringing, Stiles reminded himself to thank Derek again for buying gym mats. He couldn’t even imagine how much worse these demonstrations would be on a stone floor. 

Derek was waiting in the kitchen with a first aid kit in hand like he did after every training session. Alpha wounds didn’t heal very fast, and Stiles was a slow healer even for a werewolf. As a result, many of Stiles’s injuries were still bleeding or smarting after practice was over. First aid helped him mend faster; one less thing to add to his father’s rising concern and suspicions. 

Stiles hopped onto the stool and lifted his pants leg to reveal four bleeding puncture wounds in his left from when Peter had gripped it in order to throw Stiles into the floor. “Okay, Truth or Dare, who’s turn is it?“

“Pretty sure it’s my turn,” Derek answered drily as he got out the antiseptic wipes. Somewhere in the middle of one of their first aid sessions, Stiles had asked Derek to choose Truth or Dare. To his surprise, Derek had played along, and the game had been ongoing ever since. He’d had learned a lot about Derek through these games, and discovered he liked what he’d found. Underneath that grumpy face and hotness was an awkward guy who liked drawing and hated perfume and was basically a grandpa when it came to technology. 

“Truth.”

“What’s your anchor?”

“Wow coming at me with the serious questions right off the bat huh?” Stiles said. “It’s my dad. We take care of each other.” All they had was each other. 

Derek looked up. “Maybe you should bring something of his on the next full moon. The scent might help keep you grounded.”

Stiles nodded thoughtfully. He had been really obsessed with his dad’s scent since he’d changed. The Sheriff was still trying to solve the mystery of his disappearing jackets. “Alright my turn now. Truth or Dare.”

“Dare.”

Stiles stuck his tongue out. He’d wanted a Truth “I dare you to make a Snapchat account.”

“A what?”

“Snapchat. Here, let me.” Stiles took Derek’s phone and found the page for Snapchat on the app store. The yellow bell icon popped up on the homescreen. Stiles opened the app and added himself. Then he handed Derek back his phone and took out his own. 

“So here you press the button to take a picture and hold it to take a video.” Stiles snapped a photo of them and began flipping through the different editing options. “You can add filters or caption or draw on it if you want. Then you can send it to people, or put it on your story, which is like a photo diary that your friends can see. Anything you send to someone disappears within five seconds.” Stiles sent Derek the photo of the two of them. He’d added a sparkly filter and highlighted Derek’s eyebrows in red. Derek scowled down at it. “But if you really like a photo, you can save it by taking a screenshot like this.” Stiles used Derek’s phone to screenshot the picture. “There’s a bit more to it, but that’s basically it.”

“And why do I need this exactly?” 

“So I can send you random pictures whenever I feel like,” Stiles said, smiling innocently. Derek looked like he wanted to say more, but just then Stiles’s phone buzzed. It as a text from the Sheriff. 

_ Are you coming home soon? _

“Gotta go, Dad’s worried.” Stiles got up slowly, wincing at how much it hurt to walk. He waved off Derek’s help, determined to tough it out. At long last, Stiles made it to his jeep and was about to start the car when he felt his phone buzz once again. A red Snapchat notification from Derek Hale. It was a selfie. A pretty terrible selfie. The picture was blurred, there was finger in the corner, and Derek looked as unamused as ever.  _ You should have just let me help you _ , the caption read. 

Stiles smiled, and screenshotted the photo.

...

Stiles could deal with Peter’s violence. He didn’t like it, but he could deal. What he couldn’t deal with was being forced to play pack busybody. Every time there was a conflict between pack members, whether it be argument or physical fight, Peter was pushing Stiles to mediate. 

“No,” Stiles said when Peter demanded that he break up the Jackson-Isaac fight going on right now. Their voices were loud enough to be heard from one floor above. Luckily Stiles had invested in a pair of noise cancelling headphones so he had been tuning them out. “I don’t want to get involved. Besides, they’re more likely to listen to you since you’re the alpha.” 

Peter put his hand on Stiles’s shoulder, squeezing hard enough to bruise. “Go break up the fight.” His eyes flashed red. Stiles flinched, then reluctantly got to his feet. Disobeying an alpha command meant a world of pain later on. 

Of course the opposing parties didn’t appreciate having some random third party butt into their business, and more often than not turned their ire upon him. He expected it from Jackson and a little from Erica who alternated between aggressively sexual and just plain aggressive. But when Scott slammed him into a wall and snarled at him to mind his own business...that was the last straw. 

“Go fuck yourself,” Stiles said when Peter ordered to go break up his fourth argument in two weeks. Scott, Jackson, and Isaac were locked in an argument about lacrosse and it was clearly escalating; Stiles wanted no part in that. 

“Stiles,” Peter said, voice dangerous. His eyes shined red for a moment. Against all better judgment, Stiles maintained eye contact and stayed his ground. 

“No, I’m not their mom. They can hash out their disagreements like adults. Or children. Either way it’s not my problem.”

“You’re not their mother,” Peter agreed, hand coming up hold the back of Stiles’s neck. Stiles tensed, fully aware that Peter could snap his neck if he wanted to. “But you are the omega. It’s your duty to defuse conflicts.” 

It took Stiles a minute to process what Peter just said. “No fucking away.” He tried to move away, but Peter’s grip on the back of his neck tightened. “I’m not the fucking pack punching bag. I refuse.” 

“You are in this pack.”

Stiles raised his chin in defiance. “Then maybe I’m not a part of this pack anymore.” 

Pure rage flickered across Peter’s face before it smoothed into a smirk. “Go ahead then,” he said, removing his hand from Stiles’s neck. Stiles backed away, waiting for the catch. “But I’ll need someone to replace you. The Sheriff would make a good addition, I think.” 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Stiles snarled, his fangs and claws bursting out. 

“Then stop making threats you can’t keep and do what I tell you to,” Peter said, baring his teeth. 

Stiles clenched his fists, forcing back the urge to scream. He couldn’t fight, couldn’t run. Only thing left to do was tuck his tail between his legs and do what he was told. “Why are you doing this?” Stiles said to the floor. 

“Because--” A hand caressed Stiles’s neck and cheek before tilting his chin up. Stiles suddenly felt like a rabbit looking down the maw of an enormous wolf. “You’re so pretty when you give in.” 

...

Snapchat quickly became an integral part of Derek’s daily life. First thing in the morning Derek checked his phone for Stiles’s late night messages and snaps, and reply with a picture of his own. Throughout the day, his phone would send a steady stream of selfies and messages and terribly drawn cartoons. They never failed to make Derek feel lighter and warmer. He’d even amassed a secret (or probably not-so-secret given that Snapchat tells everyone when a picture has been screenshotted) album of his favorite pictures.

Sometimes, when he was scrolling through the album late at night, the guilt come in like a summer thunderstorm--sudden and sobering.  _ He has enough problems _ , he told himself, thumb hovering over the trash icon.  _ I won’t be his Kate. _ But he could never bring him to delete the album. 

The fact that Stiles’s snaps had been so frequent and so consistent was what made the sudden radio silence so jarring and worrisome. 

7 am: Derek sent a picture of the morning sky seen through his bedroom window.  _ Morning. _

No response. 

12:30 pm: He tried again. A picture of his lunch and a cup of coffee.  _ How are you doing? Everything okay? _

Still no response. 

4 pm: Maybe texting would yield more results.  _ Is something wrong? You’ve been quiet all day.  _

6:30 pm: Derek needed to know what was wrong. He got up and drove his Camaro to Stiles’s neighborhood, parking his car a street away because the Sheriff’s car was in the driveway and Derek didn’t want to get arrested a second time. He climbed up to Stiles’s bedroom window, trying to be as silent as possible since the room was currently occupied. 

“You feeling any better?” The Sheriff asked. “Is there anything else you need?” 

“No Dad, the soup is great. I’m already feeling better than I was this morning.” 

“You know, you can tell me if there’s anything going on. I’m always here for you kiddo.” 

“I-I know. Thanks Dad.” Stiles’s voice was small. There was a pause, then the sound of a door shutting. Derek peeked through the window. Stiles was sitting upright in his bed, head in his hands. “Fffuuucck,” he hissed, running his hands through his hair and lifting his head to stare at the ceiling. Then he caught sight of Derek at the window and startled so badly he almost fell out of his bed. 

“Some notice would be nice,” Stiles grumbled as he opened the window for Derek to climb through. 

“You weren’t answering your phone.” Derek winced internally. That came out more accusatory than he meant it to be. 

Stiles deflated. “Yeah, well, maybe I just wanted a day to myself.” His normally bright amber eyes were dull and red-rimmed. He kept on fidgeting with his clothes or running his hands through his hair or tapping his fingers on his thigh. Overall, Stiles looked like a nervous wreck. 

“Okay.” Maybe coming here trying to get answers wasn’t such a great idea after all. “...Do you want me to go?”

“No,” Stiles blurted. “No, stay.” He tugged on the sleeve of Derek’s jacket. “You want any soup? This is the second bowl Dad brought up here and I’m really not hungry.” 

Derek sat down at the foot of Stiles’s bed. “You should eat it.” 

Stiles looked down at the bowl of lukewarm chicken noodle in his hands. He picked up the spoon and began stirring the contents. “Hey Derek, what do you know about omega werewolves?” 

“Not a lot,” Derek admitted, confused by the sudden question. “They’re not very common since they’re mostly found in packs with vicious, controlling alphas and those don’t last very long. The alpha chooses someone to be the lowest ranking member so that the betas can let out their stress on them instead of possibly challenging the alpha.”

Stiles hunched into himself with every sentence. By the end he was practically curled up into a ball. Derek felt like he was missing something. “Why--do you ask?” 

“Why didn’t you tell me that I was the pack omega?”

Derek blinked. “You’re not an omega.”

“I guess I just have really bad hearing then,” Stiles mumbled, glaring at Derek. “I could have sworn Peter told me that it was my job to defuse conflicts and that he would turn my dad into a werewolf if I tried to leave the pack. Silly me--wait where are you going?”

“To talk to Peter,” Derek said as he climbed out the window and jumped down off the roof. 

He burst into Peter’s study minutes later. The alpha had laid out a whiteboard with the pictures of various hunters and information scribbled next to them. On any other day Derek would have paused to take it all in, maybe asked Peter what his plan was. But he had other things on his mind at the moment. “You told Stiles that he was an omega.” 

“Hello to you too Derek,” Peter said, setting down the Expo marker. “And yes, because he is.” 

“Why did you make him an omega? Why do we need an omega at all? Mom didn’t need one.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Unlike your mother, I have better things to do than listen to teenagers whine about their angst and drama, namely destroying the hunter community. Besides since Stiles refuses to recognize me as his alpha and thus isn’t contributing to my power in any way, this is the least he can do for th pack.” 

Derek’s mind was reeling. It was obvious that Stiles wasn’t submitting to Peter, but he hadn’t realized what it meant. No wonder his wounds took so long to heal. He was a lone wolf on top of being injured by an alpha on a daily basis. “Don’t punish Stiles for not being a good enough alpha.”

“Is that a challenge?” Peter’s voice was low and dangerous. 

“I just meant--”

“Because I would have thought you’d have learned better than to let a crush come before the well-being of the pack. Or do you want to see this one burn as well.” 

“Stiles is  _ not _ Kate.”

“And I’m sure that’s what you thought about dear Miss Argent when she bat her eyes you,” Peter sneered. “If you’re going to be so upset, I could always increase Stiles’s omega duties. I’ve been looking for something other than my right hand to relieve the stress.” 

Derek’s blood ran cold. “You wouldn’t.”

Peter’s eyes flashed red. “Try me.” 

Derek averted his eyes and bared his neck despite the rage and disgust coursing through him. All these months Derek had clung to the memory of his mischievous uncle, holding on for dear life to the only family he had left. Now he could feel them snapping as Derek realized that his uncle had been burned away by the fire and that he had been following a stranger all this time. “I’m sorry for challenging you, alpha. It won’t happen again.”

“If it does, I will fuck Stiles and make you watch. Now leave.” 

...

Derek left the room, then the building, then downtown Beacon Hills, pausing only to throw up on the sidewalk outside the apartment building. He didn’t stop walking until he found himself standing in front of Laura’s grave. The flowers he had left there from the last time he visited were shriveled and half decomposed. He gingerly sat down in front of it and just stared. 

“I wish you were here. Peter wouldn’t be alpha for one thing.” 

The moonlight made the letters on tombstone shine. Derek tentatively reached out a fingers to trace the words ‘beloved sister.’

“I don’t know what to do. I’m not strong enough to beat Peter in a fight, and I was never meant to be alpha anyway.” 

Memories of Stiles in his room, hunched into himself as if trying to make himself as small as possible. Stiles whimpering in pain because of a fractured wrist from Peter’s ‘demonstration.’ Stiles too quiet and too still. Derek couldn’t just do nothing. 

He got out his phone. Stiles picked up on the first ring. “What do you want Derek,” Stiles asked, steel beneath his exhaustion. 

“You asked me why I followed Peter,” Derek said, eyes fixed on Laura’s date of death, “and I told you it was because the pack needed an alpha. He’s also the only family I have left.” Derek closed his eyes. “But you were right. He’s not a good alpha, and he’s not the uncle I remember either. Packs with vicious, controlling alphas don’t last long, and I want the pack to last.” 

The silence afterwards went on for so long that Derek thought that Stiles had hung up. Eventually, he said, “Derek, Dare or Dare.” 

“What?” 

“Dare or Dare.”

“Stiles is now really the time--”

“I dare you to help me take Peter down.” Stiles’s voice was hard and determined. Derek swallowed down his doubt and fear and urge to run away.

“Done.” 


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles woke up the next day feeling lighter, stronger, despite the fact that he had spent half the night talking strategy with Derek. It was like all this time there had been a weight crushing him down and suddenly someone had come and taken some of the burden off of him. 

The phone buzz with a text from Scott.  _ Hey, want to hang out at my house and Mario Kart? I feel like we haven’t done that in a while. _

Stiles squinted down at the text. It was true; they hadn’t played video games or watched a movie or done anything they used to do since Stiles turned that fateful Friday night. The invitation was really convenient too, considering that Stiles was about to invite Scott over for some Saturday morning brunch and to give him the rundown. 

He texted back.  _ Sure, be over in a bit.  _

When Stiles got to the McCall house, Scott greeted him with a hug and a plate of tamales. “Dude, how’re you feeling? Were you sick with some superbug?”

“Better,” Stiles said. He settled down in front of the TV as Scott set up the game. “Just needed a day off to recover from all the training sessions.” 

Scott nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, I mean I’ve learned a lot, but they’re a little nuts. Peter seems to really have it out for you too.”

“Yup,” Stiles said, trying to find a good way to transition into the whole ‘let’s topple Peter’ thing. Scott was clearly distracted too. He ended up choosing Luigi as a character even though he’s chosen Yoshi every time they’ve played. For a while, the only sounds in the room were the game music and the character sound effects. 

“Derek and I are trying to get rid of Peter--” “Allison says hunters are going to attack on the full moon--”

Stiles and Scott turned to each other. Both of their characters fell off the Rainbow Road. “What?” they said in unison. 

“You first,” Scott said, pausing the game. Stiles gave him a quick summary of the conversation he had with Peter, and then the meeting with Derek in his room, and finally the phone call. 

“We’ve mostly been tossing around ideas,” Stiles admits. “We don’t really have a concrete plan yet.”

“Dude, this is awesome! Allison can totally help you with this.” 

“Allison? Like hunter-in-training Allison. Family out to kill us all Allison?” Stiles said, raising an eyebrow. 

Scott’s face went red. “Uh, we’ve kept in contact. She can’t talk to me at school because her grandpa is always watching her, but we text and skype sometimes. Gerard is nuts. He’s been making Allison go through really intense training, and he’s sort of taken over her home. Even her parents want him gone. But he’s not going anywhere until Peter is dead. Gerard’s planning a big attack on the den on the night of the full moon. Allison’s been hoping that will be the end of everything, but if you guys team up and take Peter out before then, then everything will be solved.” 

Stiles highly doubted that Gerard would be satisfied with just killing Peter, but the idea of working with Allison was an interesting one. Derek wasn’t going to like this though. “Can you talk to Allison about this and see what she thinks?” 

As it turned out Allison was all for the idea. “I have to convince my dad though,” she said. “He’s the one driving me everywhere now. I can’t sneak behind his behind his back anymore.” 

Stiles pursed his lips. Allison was bad enough, but now Chris. Derek was not going to like this. 

“What the fuck Stiles.” And indeed he did not. “When we talked about finding allies, this is not what I meant.”

“We need them though,” Stiles protested, tucking the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he washed vegetables in the sink. He would have liked to have this conversation in person, but the Sheriff had insisted on having a family dinner tonight, just the two of them. Stiles suspected that his dad felt guilty for being away on so many night shifts, even though it saved Stiles the trouble of having to lie about why he was always going out at night. “You said so yourself. It’s going to be hard to fight Peter because he can just use his alpha powers to get you to submit.” 

“But they’re Argents,” Derek protested. “They literally train to kill us.” 

“If you don’t want them involved in taking down Peter? Fine. Then think of this meeting as a set-up for the future in which you become alpha. It’s not like the Argents are just going to leave once this is over. You need to come up with a treaty or something or else we’re back to constantly looking over our shoulders.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Derek finally grumbled. 

The front door opened. “I gotta go, text you later.” Stiles ended the call and turned to greet his dad. 

...

In the end, the meeting ended up taking place Monday afternoon at an IHop thirty minutes away. Stiles drove Scott and Derek in his jeep. By the time they arrived, Allison and her father were already sitting at the booth. 

“What can I get for you today?” the waitress said cheerily. 

“I’ll have the full stack Buttermilk Pancakes,” Stiles said, looking through the menu. Both Chris and Derek stopped glaring at each other to glare at him. “Hey, no one is going to believe we actually went to IHop to have pancakes unless we come back smelling of maple syrup and too many calories. I’m doing us all a favor.” 

“I’d like a banana nutella crepe,” Allison said shyly. In the end, Stiles got his pancakes, Allison got her crepe, Scott ordered chicken and waffles, Chris had a pot of coffee, and Derek stuck with water. 

“Okay let’s started,” Stiles said once the waitress left their table, reaching for his backpack.

“What’s your angle? What are you getting out of this?” the werewolf cut in, growing at Chris and Allison. Stiles facefalmed.

“You mean other than getting a monster that’s killed five people and bitten six in the past three months?”

“Yes.”

Chris sat in stony silence. “The hunters have basically set up camp in our house,” Allison said after swallowing a forkful of crepe. Alarm flashed across Chris’s face as Allison blithely gave away that tactically important tidbit. “I’m tired of feeling like I’m at war all the time. I miss having friends over and going to friends’ houses. I want some of my old life back.” 

“Most of the hunters will leave once Peter is dead and I’ve demonstrated that I have control over the area again,” Chris said reluctantly. 

“Most?” Stiles said. “What about Old Man Argent? Doesn’t seem like the type to just pack up and go when the job is mostly done. 

“My father will probably stay,” Chris admitted. “I will grant that my father is a little extreme in his views--”

“He’s insane,” Allison said bluntly. “He’s been torturing and dismembering any lone wolf he comes across. He said the only reason why he hasn’t really gone after anyone in Peter’s pack is because he couldn’t afford the attention it would cause if a whole bunch of kids died or disappeared. He’s planning on wiping out the entire pack on the full moon and disappearing.” 

“We want Gerard out of our lives. And at this point the only way to do that is to jail him.” 

_ Or kill him _ , Stiles added to himself. That was a backup plan that no one had to know about. “And you want our help with that.” 

Chris nodded. “A lot of the proof we already have is either circumstantial, inadmissable, or incriminates my family along with him. We need help getting hard evidence.” The hunter looked at Derek. “Do we have a deal?” 

Derek grimaced, clearly not liking this. Finally, he nodded. “Cool,” Stiles said, pulling out his notebook and pen before anyone could say another word. “Now onto let’s figure out how we’re going to take down Peter.” 

...

Derek combed through the training room, replacing shredded gym mats with new ones, trying unsuccessfully to clamp down on his nervousness. Tonight was the full moon, the hunter attack, and his attempt to overthrow Peter. Derek still wasn’t sure how he got talked into this plan.

_ “That’s...not a terrible idea,” Chris said when Scott proposed it. “It’s risky. But Gerard won’t be bringing in many hunters since most of them have been called away to deal with another pack up north.” _

_ “No, too many of the betas are too uncontrollable during the full moon. That includes you, Scott,” Derek said. “I can’t try to control betas, fend off hunters, and try to beat Peter all at the same time. We need to think of something else.” _

_ But thirty minutes of brainstorming later, it was clear that this was the only plan wherein they had all the information and stood a chance in hell of succeeding. Derek despaired.  _

“We’re really spending the full moon in this place?” Jackson asked as the rest of the teenagers entered. 

“Yup,” Derek said, lugging over two coolers filled with sandwiches and waters and, at the very bottom, smog masks. He started handing out the food. “Eat up.” 

Once everyone had gotten what they wanted and had settled down to eat, Derek went over sit down next to Stiles. “Scott and I got Isaac to agree to help us,” Stiles said, rubbing the torn fabric wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet. It smelled strongly of the Sheriff. Since Stiles had difficulty focusing on his anchor, they figured having a constant reminder might work better. Today would be the big test. 

Derek leaned into Stiles, trying to appear casual in case anyone was watching. “If anything goes wrong, I want you to back off and run away,” he whispered. “Don’t try to take it all on yourself.” 

Stiles turned his head and his lips quirked up. Suddenly Derek was aware of how close their faces were. Stiles slowly lifted his hand and set it loosely on top of Derek’s. “I feel like I should be the one telling you not to play the hero.” 

Hesitantly, Derek turned his hand palm-upward. Their fingers laced together. 

...

Chris stared as Victoria pulled on a bullet-proof vest. “You’re going?” 

“Of course,” Victoria said, strapping a handgun holster to her thigh. “Someone has to watch your back.” She moved in fiddle with the buckle on his own vest. “Besides, you’re going to need backup,” she whispered. 

“What are you talking about?” Chris hissed back. 

Victoria took a step back and took out his phone. She typed something into the passcode screen before tossing it to Chris. He caught it and looked down. She’d opened his phone to the message thread between him and Stiles discussing the fine details of the plan. “Maybe change your passcode to something other Allison’s birthday,” Victoria said, raising one eyebrow.

Chris opened his mouth to say something...and realized he couldn’t think of anything to say. At that moment Gerard called everyone to start packing into the car. Allison came up to them, equipped with her bow and a quiver full of wolfsbane tipped arrows. Her dark curly hair was up in a high ponytail, and she looked determined. Chris’s heart clenched with pride and sadness. He’d never wanted her to live in this world, but at least she seemed ready to take it by storm. 

The ride to the werewolf apartment building was a rowdy one. In addition to the Argents, there were four other hunters who’d decided to come with. Most of the hunters who had initially answered Gerard’s call to arms had left to respond to a more urgent incident concerning the Alpha pack and a entire town of innocent civilians. The ones left were two brothers, both so green that Chris would bet his house that they’d never seen a werewolf in person, a (not very competent) mercenary, and a werewolf-hating fanatic. They spent most of the ride boasting about their unproven skill or describing in grisly detail the ways they were going to kill a bunch of teenagers. It was times in which Chris started to question his life choices. 

They parked the cars about a block away from the building itself and quietly started to unload. One hunter carried a heavy duty vaporizer along with a large bag of wolfsbane and disappeared around the corner of the building. “Allison,” Gerard said, pointing to the building across the street. The back door is unlocked. I want you to climb to the room and snipe any wolf that tries to escape through the windows.” Allison nodded and walked off. 

A couple minutes later the hunter returned, panting that he had done as Gerard instructed and placed the vaporizer in the air vent. “Good. Everyone put on your mask.” 

Chris strapped his air filter mask to his face. The seven of them lined up outside the front door, looking to Gerard for the signal. There was a couple minutes of silence as they waited for the gas to disperse throughout the building. Finally Gerard waved his hand and one of the larger hunters swung a large axe at the heavy wooden door, pounding away at it until the door swung wide open. The hunters rushed in. 

...

The night was proving to be to be exceptionally unexceptional. Just as he’d expected, Erica, Boyd and Jackson all failed to find anchors and were out of their mind with moon madness. Derek had returned to his submissive, obedient self, working with Isaac to manage the violent betas. Even Stiles wasn’t as rebellious as he had been last time. Peter felt a twinge of disappointment at that. He had been looking forward to forcefully putting Stiles in his place. Well, he could still do so...

All of a sudden, Peter caught the acrid whiff of wolfsbane. Coughing slightly, Peter followed the smell to the vents, where the air seeping in made his skin tingle unpleasantly. Thankfully the floor was large, so it would take a while for the gas to really become an issue. 

Peter went to open the window overlooking the top of the neighboring building. Worst comes to worst they could jump onto that room and then escape from there. But as soon as he poked his head outside, there was a whizz and an arrow embedded itself in the wood window frame, missing his head by mere inches. Peter jerked his head back safely inside. 

“Hunters,” Peter snarled. He turned, catching a glimpse of Kenneth racing towards the stairs and then disappearing.  _ Coward _ . “Derek, follow Plan--” His command died in his throat as he saw Scott scooping masks out of the red cooler and handing them to Isaac and Derek. Peter saw red. Claws shot from his fingernails and his canines lengthened into fangs. But before he could teach his betas a lesson, he heard a low growl. 

Standing in front of him, shifted poised to attack, was Stiles. Peter smiled, displaying all his teeth. “I’m going to have fun hurting you,” he said, and lunged forward. 

...

Things were eerily quiet. They did a cursory check of every floor, even though all their surveillance showed that the werewolves mostly stayed to the top two floors. Chris was just wondering how he was going to incapacitate the other hunters and his father without placing suspicion upon himself when suddenly a large figure hurtled down the stairs straight into the hunting party. 

The following thirty seconds were complete chaos. One of the newbie brothers tried shooting at the werewolf, except he missed and shot his brother in the shoulder instead. The fanatic charged ahead, waving a machete knife and laughing maniacally, only to get a set of claws in his chest for his efforts. Chris took advantage of the chaos to knock out the mercenary with a solid hit to the back of the head. 

The werewolf threw the fanatic to the floor and whirled on Chris. Chris barely had time to reach for his handgun when a shot rang out and the wolf fell to the floor. 

“Get your brother to the hospital,” Victoria said the newbie hovering over his injured brother as she put her gun back in her holster. Together the two of them hobbled slowly down the stairs. Victoria turned to Chris. “Where’s Gerard?” 

“I think he went ahead,” Chris said, already hurrying forward. 

“Wait.” There was a wheeze from the floor. The fanatic was trying, and failing to push himself up. His scratches bled profusely with every movement he made. “Take me with you.” 

Looking distinctly unimpressed, Victoria walked over, picked up the machete knife, and stabbed it into his chest. The fanatic gurgled blood and fell back. “He wouldn’t leave Ally alone,” she said in response to Chris confused gaze. 

“Ah.”

Together, they charged up the stairs. 

...

Frustratingly, Peter could not just swipe Stiles to the side and move on to the larger issues. The little bastard was fast, dancing just out of reach of Peter’s blows and waiting for the opportune time to strike. The animalistic fury and determination had been replaced with patient calculation. The difference in control was stark. 

But not perfect, Peter thought with a smirk as Stiles was a second too late and ended up sprawled on the floor. Peter was about to pounce and finish this troublesome fight once and for all when the door to the stairs slammed open. Peter turned to see Gerard Argent throw something at him. It landed between him and Stiles. Suddenly a blinding light filled the room. 

Peter screamed, hands covering his eyes futilely. He could hear footsteps coming near him. The acrid scent of Gerard Argent filled his nose. Peter swiped blindly, hitting nothing but air. There was a prick of pain in his neck as what could only be a needle punctured the skin. Then everything faded away. 

...

Usually sight wasn’t of much consequence to wolves. It sucked, of course, but their sense of smell and hearing tended to make up for it. Unfortunately, the smog mask impeded most of his scenting abilities, and flash bolts had the nasty tendency to severely disorient. So while Derek could hear Gerard’s footsteps and could hear the old man dragging a heavy object, his mind was too busy trying to restore his vision to really focus on stopping Gerard. 

The door to the back stairs slammed shut. Derek lurched towards it and ended up smacking his head on a hall. “Fuck,” he muttered, trying to blink away the spots in his vision. He could sense Stiles, Scott, and Isaac also attempting to shake off the effects of the flash bolt. Crap, Stiles still didn’t have a mask on. Just then the main staircase door swung open. Derek squinted to see Chris and his wife enter.

“What’s going on? Where’s Peter? Where’s Gerard?” Chris demanded. 

Derek pointed at the far door. “He left through the back exit,” he said. There was a popping sound. Derek stumbled towards the window. Chris and his wife joined in time to see a dark car screech down the street. 

“He’s gone,” Chris’s wife said.

“And he took Peter with him,” Stiles said grimly, before devolving into a coughing fit. 

Derek grabbed the idiot and dragged him over to the cooler. He shoved a yellow wolfsbane flower petal in Stiles’s face. “Eat this,” he ordered. It wouldn’t cure the poisoning, but it would stabilize Stiles until they could get Deaton to take a look at him. Once the petal was in Stiles’s mouth, Derek forced the smog mask onto his face. “You dumbass. You attacking Peter wasn’t part of the plan. And without a smog mask? What were you thinking!”

“I was thinking that you needed more time to get the betas out of there.” Stiles’s amber eyes were bright and defiant. 

Chris cut in before Derek could open his mouth. “Stop arguing. We need to focus on finding Gerard.” He looked at Derek. “Can you track him?”

“Not in a car no.” 

“Does the car have like a GPS or something that we can track it with?” Scott asked. 

“Or a phone,” Stiles added. “I found Derek by tracking Scott’s phone.” 

“I left my phone in the car,” Chris remembered. “I didn’t want to drop it or damage it.” 

“Um...I’m guessing you don’t have your laptop on you?” Stiles said. “So we can track your phone.” 

“No need,” Mrs. Argent said, taking her own phone out of her pocket and unlocking it. She tapped something on screen, and then showed Chris the result.

“Let’s go.” Chris turned and hurried down the stairs, Mrs. Argent close behind. 

“Isaac, Scott, one of you stay and look after everyone else,” Derek ordered before following. They came out of the ruined front door to find two hunters lying dead on the ground with bullet holes in their chest. Derek and Scott discretely dragged them inside the building so they wouldn’t alarm the neighbors and alert the authorities. 

Allison came jogging up. “What’s going on?” she asked. “I just saw Grandpa Gerard drive off with Peter.” 

“That’s all we know too,” Stiles said as they all piled into the SUV, somehow managing to squeeze in despite the fact that they had one too many people. Chris drove just fast enough not to be pulled over while his wife--Victoria, Derek discovered--directed him to the Warehouse district. They parked right next to the black car that Gerard had commandeered and got out as quietly as possible. Scott and Allison went in through the back. Derek and Stiles agreed to go in from the side. Victoria and Chris would enter through the front. 

It was clear that Gerard decision to kidnap Peter had not been spur of the moment. Peter was tied to a metal chair with what looked to be wolfsbane rope. Electrical wires were wrapped around his chest and neck. They glowed white and blue, causing Peter to writhe and scream in pain.

“Pathetic,” Gerard gloated, turning the power off and stepping towards Peter. “A great alpha. More like a great mutt.” Like an idiot, the old man slowly reached his hand out to touch Peter and of course Peter bit him and wouldn’t let go. Gerard had to hit Peter over the side of the head multiple times before he could get the alpha’s jaws to loosen enough. By then Gerard’s hand was bleeding profusely.

“Who’s the mutt now,” Peter sneered, lips painted red with blood. 

To everyone’s shock, Gerard started laughing. “To think it would be so easy,” he cried, shaking his head. He dug around into his pocket and pulled out a pill bottle which he immediately tossed in the trash. “I suppose I must thank you,” Gerard mused as he went over to his bag and retrieved his broadsword. “You’ve really given me everything i wanted on a a silver platter. Now all I have to do is kill you and your betas, and I will have unimaginable power.” He lifted the sword above his head. 

“No,” Derek shouted surging forward. Gerard looked up at the sound. An arrow shot out from the darkness behind him and hit his wrist, causing him to drop the sword. Derek tackled Gerard. The two of them landed a couple of feet away with Derek pinning the old man to the ground by the throat. 

“Wait,” Chris hurried up to them. “Let-Let him up. Please.” The hunter looked lost, like his entire world had upended itself. 

Reluctantly, Derek let go of Gerard and the old man sat up, coughing. “Dad, why...”

“He’s sick.” Scott said, coming out of the shadows with Allison. “He smells like the sick animals at the clinic.” 

“He has cancer.” Stiles held up the pill bottle that Gerard had thrown away as confirmation. “He probably figured that getting the bite would cure it. And since he was going to be a werewolf anyway, why not an alpha?” 

Chris turned to his father. “Is this true?”

“Chris, are you really going to believe a bunch of animals--”

“Actually don’t answer that.” Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked exhausted.

“What are you going to do?” Derek asked, crossing his arms. 

“I can put him in a facility somewhere. Make sure he never gets out...” Chris’s voice faded away at Derek’s murderous glare. “Fuck.” 

Gerard chose that moment to try and make a break for the exit. He managed to run all of two yards before Victoria shot him in the leg. She looked at her husband. “You know what you have to do.” 

“Yeah.” Chris walked forward, taking out his gun. Derek turned and walked towards Peter. There was a bang, and then something heavy crumpled to the floor. It was his turn to play executioner. 

Peter looked up at Derek, unimpressed as always. “What are you playing at Derek. You don’t even want to be alpha.” 

Derek gazed at Peter’s face. It was so familiar, yet so foreign. “Maybe not,” he admitted. He let his claws extend. “But I’ll still be a better alpha than you.” With that, Derek tore out Peter’s throat. Peter coughed once, choked on his own blood, and then his head rolled back lifelessly. 

Power rushed through Derek like electricity, making the hairs on his arm stand on end. All the pains of the evening were washed away by pure exhilaration. Derek stumbled back and turned to flash his eyes at his audience. All the wolves averted their eyes and bared their neck, except Stiles who stared in fascination. 

“I’m the alpha now.” 

...

The one thing the thrillers and the action movies never mentioned was the clean up, Stiles thought bitterly as he and Scott rolled one of the dead hunters into a body bag while Chris and Derek hauled the other dead body into the back of Chris’s car. Getting rid of evidence on half-asleep, adrenaline-drained bodies just wasn’t glamorous as near death escapades. Once both bodies were inside the car, Chris turned to Derek. “I’ll need to contact you to discuss treaties.” 

Derek blinked at him, clearly not registering a word Chris said. “He needs your cell number,” Stiles nudged. “Actually I can just text it to you,” he told Chris. 

Chris nodded. He and Victoria each climbed into the driver’s seat of one of their cars and drove away. Derek, Stiles, Scott wearily carried Peter’s corpse inside and stashed it in one of the first floor rooms. Stiles rested his against the elevator’s iron cage, almost falling when the elevator opened. 

“What happened? Did you find Gerard?” Isaac asked them once they arrived at the top floor per Isaac’s text. 

Derek flashed his eyes in confirmation. Isaac looked away and bared his throat. 

While they were away, Isaac had gotten out as many fans as he could and placed one at every window. Any papers that were not weighted down immediately flew through the air like they were in a hurricane, but at least they didn’t have to wear masks indoors anymore. Jackson, Erica, and Boyd were laid out on the rug in front of the couch, all completely unconscious. 

The three of them took much deserved showers. Stiles moaned in relief as all the dirt and grime and blood were washed away. Breathing his teeth after a long day of biting and snarling felt almost as good. 

Stiles was on his way to the spare guest room, still toweling his hair, when he spotted Derek sitting on the couch staring blankly at the white wall.  _ Oh boy _ , Stiles thought, going over and plopping himself down next to him. “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“...Everything happened so fast.” Derek’s voice was flat and measured. “Three hours ago, Peter was the alpha. He was the one with all the plans. Now I have to bury him and tell the betas and negotiate a treaty with Chris and train everyone and--”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Stiles turned Derek’s shoulders so that the alpha was facing him instead of the wall. “It’s going to be okay. I’m sure Isaac will help you bury Peter, I doubt anyone will miss Peter, and I’ll help you with Chris and the treaty. My point is. You don’t have to face this alone. You have a pack.” Stiles took a breath and gave a small, hesitant smile. “And you have me.”

“You--want to be in this pack?”

Stiles made a ‘you are so dumb’ face. “Of course I do. You’re my alpha.” The words feel right, like the last puzzle piece sliding into place. Energy coursed through Stiles’s body, erasing all the aches and pains that Stiles leaving him feeling healthy and refreshed. He could feel Scott and Isaac sleeping in the guest room nearby. He could feel Jackson, Erica, and Boyd’s slow, steady heartbeats as surely as he felt his own heart beating in his chest. Most of all, he could feel Derek, feel his warmth and wonderment. Stiles grinned at his alpha delighted. “Damn if I’d known--” 

Stiles’s words were cut off by lips pressing against his. He froze in surprise, before tentatively wrapping his arms around Derek and kissing back. The kiss was soft and sweet and god Stiles didn’t want it end. Eventually they broke apart. “I guess this means I’m part of the pack,” Stiles said with a smile. 

Derek didn’t smile back. “I--I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Stiles froze. “What do you mean?” 

“We can’t be together.” Now Derek was staring at the couch upholstery. 

“No.” Stiles’s face twisted in rage and defiance. “No we are not doing this song and dance.” He shook Derek’s shoulders until the alpha looked up at him. “Do you like me?”

“Stiles--”

“Because I like you. A lot.” 

“Stiles you’re sixteen. I’m twenty-two.”

“Fuck you I’m seventeen. Eighteen in a year. We can wait. If you’re really that worried, then I can have my dad do the whole telling you to stay away from me while polishing his shotgun schtick.” 

Derek blinked. “You want me to meet your dad?”

“That’s what you got out of that?” Stiles sighed. He took Derek’s hands in his. “I like being with you. Maybe you’re right. Maybe we’re doomed and three months later we’ll curse ourselves for being idiots. But I want to try.”

“I want to kiss you again.”

Stiles laughed, feeling so happy and  _ fond _ . He leaned forward, wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck and pressed their lips together. Things were going to be alright. 

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out on [tumblr](katxwithwings.tumblr.com).
> 
> (Fest Mod Note: this work was created for the 2018 Sterek Smooch Fest. Please follow the fest on [LJ](https://sterek-smooch.livejournal.com/) and [TUMBLR](https://sterek-smooch.tumblr.com/) to see the rest of the fabulous creations! Thank you!)


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